


Until it's gone

by Lifedrake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Body Horror, Child Abuse, Dark, Dark John, Dark Sherlock, Fluff, Ghosts, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Insanity, Isolation, Johnlock Fluff, Kid Sherlock, Kidlock, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Palace, Minor Character Death, Out of Character, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:55:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 14,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifedrake/pseuds/Lifedrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After he falls off the building, Sherlock wakes up from a coma to find that his perfect life was all a dream, John doesn't exist and he's a kid again but even as a child he knows that things just don't quite add up...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awakening

"Goodbye John" Sherlock threw his phone to one side.

"Don't you dare..." John's eyes widened in alarm. Sherlock took a deep breath.

"...Sherlock..."

Then he was falling.

"SHERLOCK!" John ran forwards and was hit by a bike.

Sherlock, however, was hit by something a lot more painful and a lot more deadly: the ground.

As he lay there bleeding, a small crowd gathered around him. John stumbled to his feet and ran over. He froze when he saw the blood.

It wasn't supposed to go like this. Sherlock had planned it out perfectly. What had gone wrong? He looked at the blood with his remaining consciousness and then laid down his head and closed his eyes for the final time.

 

Then he woke up.

The infuriating beeping of a life support system was the first thing he heard.

He could feel crisp hospital sheets below him.

He opened his eyes. They were heavy with sleep.

"Sherlock?!"

The voice was familiar but it wasn't John.

"M-Moriarty..?" He was surprised at how high his voice sounded but he was more concerned that Moriarty, his arch enemy, was peering over him looking equally concerned.

"Y-you're awake?" he sounded relieved, "How do you feel? You've been in a coma for over a year"

"What?!" Sherlock sat straight up, "H-how..? Who..? Where's John?!"

"Who's John? The doctor says you might have some amnesia so feel free to ask any questions"

Sherlock stared in horror. John never existed. But that couldn't be possible... It couldn't...

"Who are you?"

Moriarty looked slightly hurt at that, "I'm your uncle. Jim."

"How old am I?"

"6"

Dammit, "So John doesn't exist? Molly? Lestrade?"

"I don't recognize those names"

"Where's Mycroft?"

"Who?"

Sherlock fought back tears. Nobody he knew existed.

Moriarty took him outside the hospital and dragged him home but Sherlock wasn't stupid, he hadn't seen a single doctor or nurse on the way out and they hadn't signed out or anything. They'd just left. Moriarty was lying about something.

As soon as they had arrived home (which was a cosy cottage in the middle of a forest in the middle of nowhere) Moriarty's nice uncle attitude vanished.

"So this is home?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes" he replied coldly.

Sherlock looked up, surprised at his sudden change in nature.

"Go to your room"

"But I don't even know-"

"Go. To. Your. Room."

Sherlock quickly rushed off to find his room. The only furniture in there was a bed and a dresser and the floor was covered in stains. Some of the stains were blood stains. The walls were peeling and scratched. There were no windows. It looked like something from a horror movie and that was only half of the story. It was clear that he wasn't the first child to be in there.

There were messy scrawls on the walls that weren't in his own handwriting. Some were even in blood. Pictures of stick-people dying in horrific ways, the writings of insane people, monsters of different shapes and sizes. It was a nightmare.

He lay on the bed and cried.

 


	2. Red Walls

Sherlock spent the next month stuck alone in his room. Moriarty had locked the door and left the cottage and never came back.

He started by trying to sort out his mind palace to kill time. When that became boring, he got a pen and did maths on the wall. Eventually, the pen ran out and he had to scratch with his fingernails.

His sleep was plagued with nightmares, each more horrific than the last. It began with flashbacks of the fall but began to twist in different directions. Dreams where John was the one who fell or John being tortured or dead.

He began to talk to himself, having arguments and even once giving himself the silent treatment in a sulk. He stopped doing maths and instead drew images from his dreams. The walls became more decorated with stickmen being tortured.

Sometimes when his nails hurt too much to draw he would sob on the bed and reflect on the old saying "You don't know what you have until it's gone"

It was true and he had never realized how much he had taken everything to granted. Having a brother, a loving family, a friend. It was horrible having it snatched so violently from him.

The nightmare got worse when Moriarty returned and let him out of his room. He was beaten for anything even slightly wrong. One day he tried to escape and was locked back in his room with a black eye, a dislocated arm and a new pen. He banged on the door and screamed until his fists bled and his voice ran out.

After a while, he was forced to set his arm back himself. Compared to what he had been through in the past month, setting his arm back seemed as painful as a grazed knee.

He used the blood from his beatings to draw more on the walls. No point wasting the pen when he had something else to use.

Every now and then he was forced to clean the walls with the water from the taps. The bathroom was luckily right next to his room so even when he was locked in he had something to drink. Food, however, was harder to obtain and he sometimes had to go days without it until either Moriarty gave him some or he found an edible plant growing under his bed. It wasn't always edible. When food was scarce, he would eat the wallpaper. 

Just when he was certain that he would go insane, Moriarty finally took him out for a walk in the forest that surrounded the cottage and while he wasn't watching, he ran away. He almost succeeded but after a close encounter with a wild dog even Moriarty didn't have the heart to beat him.

Sherlock spent the next few days unconscious and the weeks after he awoke in agony.

He began drawing the wild dog on the wall in his blood when his broken wrist had healed. Once he tried to hang himself with a rope that Moriarty accidently left lying around but he was stopped seconds before unconsciousness but he still had the marks on his neck.

After that, he bided his time and waited for an opportunity.


	3. Escape

After his first encounter with the wild dog, Moriarty had decided that Sherlock wouldn't try to escape again and took him for another walk.

As soon as he was looking another way, Sherlock made another run for it.

He could hear Moriarty close behind chasing him between the trees. Sherlock gritted his teeth and ran faster, looping through the trees and trying to lose him.

He leapt onto a low hanging branch and began to scramble up the tree, making sure to flick the branch in Moriarty's face to give him more time. He bounded from tree to tree in a random pattern until Moriarty lost him. He still didn't relax though and continued to jump between branches like a squirrel.

There was a growl from below and he saw the wild dog at the foot of the tree he was up. It was still bloody from their last encounter and Sherlock still had the scars.

Green eyes glared up at him and crimson coated fangs snapped at the air. He squeaked in fear and made a jump but in his terror he miscalculated and fell towards the ground and waiting hound.

He grabbed a branch and clung on for dear life as the hound caught his foot in its slobbering jaws. He kicked at it, ignoring the razor sharp teeth digging into his flesh. The hound fell back with a whimper before springing at him, claws outstretched.

Sherlock dropped off the branch as the dog hit the branch he had been on only seconds before and sent it cracking and tumbling to the ground. He ran, ignoring the pain in his chest from so much running. Every breath stabbed at him.

The hound turned and began to charge at him. He knew he couldn't outrun it so he grabbed a stone as he ran and threw it back at the hound. He didn't see what happened but he heard a howl of pain and the sound of something large topping over.

The wild dog was persistent though and charged at him again. This time, he didn't manage to pick up a stone before the furry ball of fury slammed into him and sent them cartwheeling into a tree with a bang. The dog pinned him down and opened his jaws to show the teeth that the stone had knocked out. A slimy scarlet tongue reached out and licked him before it slashed at him with its claws.

Sherlock's fingers closed on a fallen branch and he swung it into the hound's face. There was a satisfying crack and the hound fell in a heap, blood spilling from a crack in its head.

He stared at the dead beast for a few seconds, panting, before licking the blood from it. He knew it was disgusting but he had no idea when the next time he would drink or eat was.

He got to his feet and began to walk away, resisting the urge to run. He couldn't waste his energy in case Moriarty showed up again.

He found several unripe blackberries and ate them. It tasted like heaven compared to what he had been forced to eat for so long. He took as many of them as he could before continuing.

With the danger gone, he finally appreciated the beauty of the forest around him.

Dappled sunlight shone down from between green leaves. Flowers of every colour grew from the undisturbed ground. Butterflies and bees flittered from tree to tree.

It was beautiful compared to the crumbling, bloody walls he had been confined to for so long.

He took a deep breath of the fresh air, feeling the freedom. An eagle landed a way ahead of him and looked at him for a second before soaring away on glorious wings.

He was free at last.


	4. Prison of the Mind

After a long while of walking, Sherlock settled down for the night in a hollow in a tree. He was glad that he was small enough to fit.

"Where exactly are you going?" He asked himself.

"To find John" Sherlock replied defiantly.

"You're looking for a fictional character? He's not real!"

"I can at least report child abuse"

He snorted, "Like anyone would believe you! You're insane in case you didn't notice!"

"I have the scars to prove it"

"You could have done it to yourself!"

"Bite marks? I don't think so"

"A wild dog. That isn't child abuse"

"I have a black eye"

"Maybe you punched yourself?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "No. I don't think you can give yourself a black eye"

"Don't blame me when you get taken straight back to Moriarty and get another beating"

"I can't believe I'm having this argument..."

"Believe it!"

Sherlock bit his bottom lip and gazed out of the tree, trying to ignore the voice in his head taunting him.

"Not really just in your head is it?"

"Shut up"

"You're literally talking aloud to yourself"

"I said shut. up."

"Getting feisty are we?"

Sherlock curled into a ball and tried to sleep.

"Giving me the silent treatment again?"

He didn't respond.

"Awww! Come on! We were having such fun weren't we?

He bit his lip again.

"You're no fun. I don't know why John put up with you. I know he wasn't real but still..."

Tears began to run down his cheek.

"How quickly you realized that your freedom was just an illusion" The voice tutted, "Escape one prison to find yourself in another. What are you going to do?"

"What prison? I'm free"

"Finally talking are we? A prison of the mind of course!"

Sherlock slept fitfully that night as he reflected on the voice's words.

He dreamt that night of being trapped in his mind palace.

 


	5. John

Sherlock was relieved when he finally saw the seemingly never-ending forest come to an end.

He wandered out onto a small road. There was nobody anywhere in sight.

He stood there was a second, considering where to go when he was suddenly aware of the roar of an engine and he turned to see a car heading straight for him.

The car screeched to a halt a second too late and he was sent sprawling across the ground, grazing his knees.

"Are you ok?!" A man stumbled out of the car and watched him in alarm.

Sherlock froze. He recognized that voice. It was the voice that had haunted his dreams and hung about in his mind palace, taunting him by keeping out of sight.

"...John..."

"W-what?" John was clearly quite shocked, "How did you know..?"

"John!" Sherlock jumped to his feet and beamed at him.

"Who..?" John suddenly remembered that he had just hit the 6 year old with a car, "Are you ok?"

"Compared to what I've been though the past months? I feel better than I've ever felt before!" he laughed and grinned at John. His smile dropped as he saw how horrified John looked. He realized that he sounded completely insane... Which he was. He looked down at his feet.

"Uh... Can I look at the damage? I'm a doctor" John looked a little more cautious now.

"I know you are. I know that you are an army doctor from Afghanistan and you used to have a limp and a therapist. You also have a sister who is worried about you but you won't go to her for help because she does drugs"

"You're good at deduction" John looked sorrowful, "I used to have a friend who could deduce like that"

"I didn't deduce. I knew" Sherlock cocked his head to one side and smirked.

"...O...k... How..?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, John Hamish Watson. How's Mycroft doing by the way?"

John recoiled as if he had gotten an electric shock when Sherlock said his whole name, "Mycroft's doing fine... What's your name?"

"William Holmes" He didn't say his first name. He didn't want to scare John away.

"Holmes? That explains a lot. Can I look at your cuts now?"

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand, "No need. I've had worse"

"But I hit you with a car..."

"Nothing that won't heal in a few weeks"

"How are you dealing with this so well? You're 5"

"6 actually. I was torn apart by a dog once so this has to be the least pain I've ever had in my life"

"Where are your parents? Shouldn't they..?"

"Never knew them. I've been living for the past few months with a psychopath who claims to be my uncle. I ran away"

"He can't be _that_ bad..."

"Jim. Jim Moriarty. I believe you know him?"

The way John flinched told him all he needed to know.

"Should I take you to a hospital or the police?"

"The police are idiots"

"Hospital it is then" John opened the car door for him.

Sherlock smiled at him and got in.

John had trust issues if he remembered correctly.

If he was right then John, even if it was unconsciously, still recognized him.

 


	6. Scalpel

Sherlock hated the hospital.

All the doctors fussed over his many injuries, telling him how lucky he was to be alive.

He didn't want to be alive and he certainly didn't feel lucky in the slightest.

One of the doctors gave him a lollypop. He just glared at them as they told him that they had contacted the police.

He hated being treated like a child.

Then one of them accidently left a scalpel in his room. John had left, promising to come back. No one would know.

After a few minutes in the room alone with the scalpel his arms were dripping blood over the floor and he had drawn in his own blood all over the walls. It reminded him of the cottage but without the peeling wallpaper or pens.

"Home sweet home" Sherlock muttered darkly as he looked at the dripping red walls.

At that moment, one of the doctors walked in and froze as they saw the horrific images in blood on the walls. Sherlock turned with a psychopathic smile on his face, arms dripping scarlet. Before the doctor could react, the scalpel was protruding from his throat. He coughed up blood with a sad little gurgle.

Sherlock just passed him the lollypop, "This is for being such a brave boy" he said, mimicking what the doctors had told him.

The doctor only choked up more blood.

"What's wrong? Scalpel got your tongue?" He mocked and pulled it back out again, "No point wasting a perfectly good weapon"

The body went still.

"What have you done..?" He asked himself, suddenly terrified.

"He treated me like a child" Sherlock snarled, "They won't anymore"

"You just murdered him! You're no better than Moriarty!"

"Correction. I'm _worse_ than Moriarty"

"Wha- Why?! Why do you want to be worse?!"

"For starters to make him fear me! He will know that I am after him next. He also thinks himself a master villain so how will he feel when another villain comes to match him?"

"So revenge? On Moriarty. Using an _innocent life?!"_

"What's done is done" Sherlock laughed and flipped the scalpel in the air before catching it again, "Besides, what are you going to do about it?"

"What will John think?"

Sherlock stiffened, "He doesn't recognize me" he hissed.

"He does unconsciously and you know it!"

" _Why don't you mind your own business?_ " he snarled and climbed out the window before setting off to find his next victim.

"...Oh Sherlock..."


	7. Insane

John wasn't alarmed when he came to the hospital to see the police there. The doctors had said that they would be calling the police.

It was when they carried out the dead body that he was alarmed.

"What happened?" He stared at the corpse.

"We don't know" Lestrade was standing there, looking solemn, "He was found dead from a scalpel in the neck. The scalpel was taken and one of the patients is missing"

"Which patient?" A chill went up his spine

"Apparently his name was William Holmes but Mycroft confirmed that he doesn't have a brother of that name although William _is_ Sherlock's middle name..."

"So the murderer took him?"

"Possibly but..." Lestrade hesitated.

"But..?"

"The boy appeared to be insane..."

John's eyes widened, "But I drove him here in my car and he didn't touch me"

"No weapons I guess and you were also driving the car he was in"

John stared down, "I know this may sound weird but he reminds me a little too much of Sherlock..."

"That's normal after the death of a loved one. Anderson is seeing him everywhere. It's pretty much his obsession now"

"But he deduced me perfectly. Not even one mistake. When I asked him about it he said he hadn't deduced, he had known. He also knew about Mycroft and..."

"The boy was insane. He probably deduced you and pretended that he knew all along"

"Still... It was pretty weird..."

"Don't beat yourself up about it. We're hunting him down right now"

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock whistled to himself as he skipped through the back alleys of London.

"Your taste in music sucks"

"Shut up"

"Where are you even going?"

"You'll see... Ah, here comes my victim now!"

A young man had come round the corner. Sherlock put on his best scared little kid face.

"Please sir" He looked up with wide eyes.

"Hm?" The man looked down at him, "Where are your parents, kid?"

Sherlock sniffed, "I lost them and I don't know..." he put his face in his hands and pretended to sob.

"Please don't cry. I'll help find your parents. What do they look like?" Sherlock noticed the flash of a knife in the man's sleeve.

"Now this is getting interesting" He whispered.

"Huh?"

"I just miss them so much" He whimpered and began to sob again.

The man moved to comfort him and he spun around, slashing the man's face with the scalpel.

"Argh! What the-?" The knife fell out of his sleeve and Sherlock swept it up in a heartbeat.

"Don't try to murder a murderer" Sherlock held the knife to the man's neck, "In fact, try to avoid murderers full stop.

"You? A murderer? You're 5!"

"I'm 6" He snarled and the cry of pain echoed around the alley long after the man was dead.

 


	8. Dark Side

"Several more deaths" Lestrade sighed as he flicked through the paper work, "Witnesses say that they saw a boy of about 5 with curly black hair and blue eyes leaving the crime scenes, chatting to himself. The boy is well and truly mad"

"The boy will go for Moriarty" John said, "He told me that Moriarty was the one who looked after him for so long. He hates Moriarty"

"But Moriarty is dead..."

"Is he really? There have already been a ton of sightings of him"

"So the boy will go for him sooner or later?"

"Probably. It would make sense"

"How will we even find Moriarty?"

"Well what about the sightings? Those would be a good place to check"

Lestrade sighed and began to sort though the papers until he finally found the ones he wanted.

"Most sightings seem to mention a cottage in the woods. I guess we should start there"

"Good" John leapt to his feet, "Let's go"

"I've never seen you so eager about a crime scene before..."

"I told you before. The boy, William, he reminds me of Sherlock a little too much"

"Ok. Whatever floats your boat" Lestrade grabbed his coat and walked out the door.

 

* * *

 

 

It took a while to find the cottage. It was hidden deep in the forest in a small clearing in the trees.

"Well..." Lestrade gazed at it, "It's cosy. I wouldn't want to keep a child here though"

John shrugged, "We can't be certain yet that there ever was a kid here"

Lestrade pushed open the door which had been left unlocked and looked around inside. It looked like nobody had lived in it for a long time. Dust covered every surface apart from the floor and cobwebs were nestled in every corner.

"It doesn't look like there was ever a kid here..." He peeped through a nearby door and froze, "John... You might want to see this..."

John frowned and pushed open the door. The inside looked like something straight out of a horror movie.

Blood stained the carpet and walls. Wallpaper peeled and crumbled. There was even mushrooms growing under the bed.

This wasn't what scared John though. It was what was written on the walls.

_I'm sorry John. What did I do to deserve this?_

Surrounding the words were pictures of stickmen being brutally tortured but there were several that really stood out for John: Pictures of a stickman on the top of a building about to jump. Some of the pictures were the same stickman at the bottom of the building with blood spilling from its head.

"Sherlock..." John whispered.

"Well we can definitely say that there's been some child abuse here" Lestrade whistled.

"This is horrific"

"Looks like the walls of the hospital after the murder"

John turned to check out the rest of the house when he saw a gun pointed straight at Lestrade's head.

"Look out!"

Lestrade spun around to see Moriarty standing there, holding a gun. He fired but Lestrade had already ducked and the bullet hit the wall harmlessly.

Moriarty grinned, "Here to arrest me are you? Do it. You'll be doing me a favour"

"Why?" John pulled out his own gun and pointed it at Moriarty.

"Safety. You probably already know that little William is after my head"

"Who is William?" He already felt like he knew but it sounded so ridiculous that he didn't dare to believe it was true.

"Don't you recognize him?" Moriarty laughed, "I know he's changed but no-one could mistake those eyes"

"You're lying. Sherlock is dead"

"Look around you. Does this look like the works of a random child?"

Suddenly, Moriarty cried out in pain and doubled over. Sherlock stood there holding a bloody knife and grinning, eyes large with excitement and face blood splattered. Moriarty had a slash down his back.

John was too shocked to speak.

"Stop!" Lestrade began to run forwards. Sherlock whipped out Moriarty's gun and pointed it at him calmly.

"Take another step and you get a bullet to the head"

Lestrade froze and stepped back.

"Good boy" Sherlock kicked Moriarty, sending him sprawling.

"You don't need to do this... Sherlock..?" He said Sherlock doubtfully. He clearly didn't quite believe that the crazy 6 year old in front of him was the genius detective that had mocked him for so long.

"I see you finally found out" Sherlock laughed, "It took you much longer than it should have"

He held up the knife, preparing to bring it down on Moriarty's neck.

"No!" John leapt forwards, "If you do that then you'll be no better than Moriarty!"

"I'm not better. I'm _worse"_

The knife sliced down. John ran towards him and grabbed his arm before the knife reached Moriarty's neck. Sherlock screamed in rage and twisted around, ready to slash the blade across John's face. John held up his hands in a feeble attempt to block the blow. It never came.

After a few seconds, John opened his eyes a crack and looked at Sherlock. He had froze, halfway to murdering him, wide eyed and shivering as if he had only just realized what he was doing. He suddenly fell to the ground, his hair falling across his face. His body shook with sobs.

"J-John..?"

Moriarty took the opportunity to sprint out the door.

"It's ok" John knelt next to the shuddering boy, "I'm here for you"

Sherlock hugged him, his tears soaking into John's clothes.


	9. Every Cloud

"What are we going to do? This kid is wanted for serial killing!" Lestrade looked down in dismay at the sobbing, curled up Sherlock.

"We can't turn him in" John looked up at him, "It's not his fault"

"It kind of is. Sorry to break this to you"

"Being with Moriarty so long sent him insane. That isn't his fault!"

"Well we could say he's insane in court. He'll go to an asylum"

"We need to find out how to reverse this though! He's 6 Lestrade! 6! We can't reverse this when he's stuck in the loony bin"

Sherlock peered up with large eyes, "I'm not sure there _is_ a cure"

"Shut up. There has to be!" John fought back tears, "There has to be..." he suddenly sprung to his feet, "Mycroft! He has to have a cure! He's the government!"

"Part of the government" Lestrade corrected, "You've been spending too much time with Sherlock"

"Actually not enough if you ask me" He smiled at the young boy.

"I suppose if Moriarty managed to create it then Mycroft is probably the only person who would be able to reverse it..." Lestrade said thoughtfully, "But he's still mentally unstable. He's dangerous enough as a 6 year old, imagine him as an adult!"

"There has to be an answer!" John groaned, "There just _has_ to be!"

Sherlock shook his head sadly, "Sometimes there is no way out. I should just go to the asylum and wait until I grow up on my own accord"

"Moriarty's still out there. He'll come back for you"

"I'm quite sure he won't be doing that in a hurry" There was a flicker of manic delight on Sherlock's face, "Not at all if he dies of blood loss first"

"But he will eventually if he survives which, knowing him, he will"

"There's nothing we can do, John. We just wait and see what will happen. Not every problem has an answer and not all clouds have silver linings"

"That's not how I've heard it. _Every_ cloud has a silver lining"

"Not the mushroom shaped ones. I think we've drawn a short straw here"

"Will you stop with the metaphors?!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Getting feisty are we?"

"It's just very stressful!"

"Look" Lestrade sighed, "The asylum is our best option right now"

"But if we think of something else then we won't be able to get him out again"

"I'm sorry but it's the only option"

Sherlock nodded solemnly.

John hugged him, "I guess this is goodbye then?"

"You can visit me... Do they even let people visit insane people?"

Lestrade gave an encouraging smile, "Yes. So we'll take him in?"

Sherlock nodded and stood up, handing him the knife and scalpel, "Let's go"

"That's all of it?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow at him. Sherlock grumbled something and handed him a gun.

 "Goodbye" Sherlock turned to John.

"Bye, I guess..." John forced a smile.

They hugged one last time. When they parted, Lestrade took Sherlock's hand and they left.

John didn't move to come with them. He stood there, thinking.

There was silence.


	10. Has a Silver Lining

John punched the wall with a yell of rage.

He had come so close to having Sherlock back again only to have it snatched away again because he hadn't been there. Maybe if he had been there that day in the hospital then the doctor never would have been murdered and Sherlock wouldn't be known as an insane criminal.

"There _has_ to be a way" He began to pace the room, his steps growing faster and faster, "There _has_ to be!"

"There is"

John froze and spun around. A little girl sat there watching him with her head cocked.

"W-what?" Maybe the insanity of the room was wearing off on him.

"There is a way" The child had strange eyes. They were violet and almost seemed to glow softly.

"What is the way?"

"The way of course" The child smiled, showing sparkling white teeth that seemed slightly sharper than natural.

"But what is the way?" John took a deep breath, trying not to lose his cool with the child.

"Don't you read fairy tales? A kiss of true love"

"Fairy tales aren't real and this isn't just some curse"

"But isn't insanity the same thing? Love can break through it"

"That's ridiculous"

"Isn't it worth a try?" She chuckled, "You haven't seen the things I've seen. Your friend lasted longer than anyone else here. You know why? He spent every day thinking about you. He could have starved himself to death at any point but he knew he would see you again"

"How would you know that?"

"I was there. I watched him worry about you constantly"

"How were you there?"

She laughed, "This was my room. Sherlock isn't the first to be taken here he's just the first to escape"

"So he left without you?"

"It doesn't matter. The point is that you need to find a cure for him. He can't just stay as a child for the rest of his life"

"But won't he grow up eventually?"

"Is it worth the risk?" The girl's form seemed to flicker slightly.

"I can't believe I'm taking advice from a hallucination..." John rolled his eyes, "Fine. What do I do?"

"You mentioned someone who can find you a cure. Ask him"

"And what if your advice doesn't work? What if true love's kiss is just a fairy story? What if it isn't true love?"

"It doesn't have to be a kiss. Just tell him how you feel" She turned to leave, "And fairy stories _are_ real but it's like a game of Chinese whispers: They become distorted over time. The reality is darker than the sweet tales you've grown up on"

The girl winked and began to fade away.

"The name is Rachel"

John was alone again.

 


	11. Locked In

John shook his head. The insanity in the room was definitely wearing off on him.

He turned to leave to find the door was shut.

He frowned and tried to open it. It was locked tight.

John felt a slight panic beginning to rise within him and he banged on the door in the hope that it was just stiff but it didn't budge.

"Lestrade! This isn't funny!"

There was no reply except his own voice echoing back at him.

"Please!" He hit the door desperately.

His voice was echoed back at him, mockingly.

The walls suddenly seemed way too close. The writing on the walls a little too red.

"Help!"

He screamed for help until his voice went hoarse and hit the door until his fists bled. Finally, he slid down the door, defeated.

How had Sherlock survived so long in that room? He had no idea and he certainly wasn't going to manage it.

The lights above flickered.

"Rachel..." He rasped.

_"Well it wouldn't be a fairy tale without something blocking the brave hero's path would it?"_ Rachel's disembodied voice giggled.

"W-why?"

Rachel didn't reply. Her voice echoed and faded into the room.

The crimson blood glistened on the wall as if it were fresh. John stood up dizzily. Was the room airtight? He was feeling strangely light headed.

Of course it wasn't. He was just panicking too much. He realized that he was hyperventilating and tried to calm down.

"O-ok... There has to be a way out of here..."

John tapped on the walls in the hope of another door or something. There was just the bathroom.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked terrible with messed up hair and large, terrified eyes.

The lights flickered and he saw a second figure in the glass behind him.

He spun around. Nothing.

"I really need to calm down... I'm beginning to hallucinate" He laughed slightly, "And now I'm talking to myself..."

"Hallucinate? Well if it helps you sleep at night..."

John jumped and looked around. It was just him and his reflection. The voice hadn't sounded like Rachel...

"There's no escape you know. You just have to wait"

He flinched. That voice sounded exactly like him.

"What do you mean? There has to be some way"

"Many have tried, many have failed" The lights flickered again and he saw the figure in the mirror again, closer this time.

"Sherlock managed it!"

"No escape" The voice mocked.

"Shut up. You're not real" John turned to leave the bathroom. The door slammed shut in his face.

"None" It mocked again.

The lights went out.

"Not real" John retaliated, sticking his fingers in his ears and shutting his eyes tight.

"You can't shut us out" The voice sang.

He fumbled at the door for the handle.

"No"

He gripped the handle.

"Escape"

He pushed it down.

"None"

The door swung open.

"You can't shut us out"

He ran through and slammed the door shut behind him.

Only half an hour and he was already losing his mind. Or was it less than that? Or more? He couldn't tell.

Blood trickled from his hands from when he had banged the door. He glanced down at it and then at the bloody walls.

He needed to do something. _Anything._

He drew a picture on the wall in his blood. Something a little cheerier. A little stickman family.

At least...

That's what it was supposed to be.

The blood dripped and the faces looked more twisted. Their smiles seemed full of malice.

He winced at the horrific creation and sat down on the bed.

_You can't shut us out._

He curled into a ball, tears rising unbidden in his eyes.

_You can't._

Lestrade would come eventually.

_You._

He screamed.

_Can't._

He knew that many others had screamed before just like he was.

_Shut._

Many others had been trapped there.

_Us._

How could anyone do this? Even Moriarty?

_Out._

His screams continued until he passed out from blood loss.

At least...

That's what he thought it must be...

 


	12. The Twisted Forest

John frowned as he opened his eyes and glanced around the room. The door was hanging wide open innocently like it had never been locked.

He got up and ran out the door before it could shut again, closing it behind him with a bang.

He sighed in relief. He was free.

The front door of the cottage was also open, luckily. He walked through it into the forest beyond.

It had turned to night since he had been trapped and the trees hung ominously like hands reaching to grab him. Fog clung to the ground and the trees like dust.

The leaves crunched under his feet and it was so cold that his breath steamed in front of his face.

John shivered and began to walk through the trees, switching on his torch.

The beam of light cut through the darkness, lighting up a circle of the ground ahead in a yellow tinted glow.

He continued walking.

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes seemed to turn into hours. John stopped walking for a rest, sitting down heavily on a rock.

Every tree, bush, stone and stick looked the same as the last as if he were traveling in circles.

There was no sign of the forest's end. It felt like he was getting nowhere.

John sighed and glanced around him, shining the torch around.

Its beam began to flicker. There was a low growl behind him.

He leapt to his feet and spun around, looking for the source.

The source was a large wild dog. There was a bloody crack in its head and it walked with a limp but it still looked ferocious as it glared at him with glowing green eyes.

John began to pull out his gun. The dog leapt forwards, knocking the gun from his hand and pinning him down. Fangs snapped together, inches from his face. The torch was sent spinning across the ground.

He glanced at the gun which had landed a short distance away and tried to reach for it. The hound slashed its claws across his cheek with a snarl. John yelped in pain but continued to stretch his fingers towards the handle.

The dog bit into his arm just as his fingers curled it. He screamed and drew the gun up, firing it straight into the dog's face.

There was a squeak and the dog collapsed onto the ground.

John stumbled to his feet, grabbing the torch and began to run in case there was anything else out there.


	13. Exit

John was surprised to finally see an exit ahead. He wandered out and onto a small road.

He could now see the stars above and the moon glistening down. He switched off the torch to save its battery and looked around.

It was quiet.

He stood there for a second.

The only sound was his own breathing.

There wasn't even the hoot of an owl or the whistle of the wind.

He considered which way to go.

_"Go right. Right is always right... Except when it's wrong"_

He flinched at the familiar voice.

"Rachel..."

He turned left and started walking.

_"H-hey! Where do you think you're going?"_

"Anywhere other than where you tell me to go"

_"What if I tell you to avoid that car?"_

"What car?" He turned to see a car heading straight at him. He cried out in alarm and threw himself to one side, narrowly avoiding the tyres as they screeched past.

_"See? I can help. I'm not evil I'm just insane"_

"Great" John muttered sarcastically, "Because we don't already have enough insane people"

"That's the spirit!" Rachel suddenly materialized in front of him. John yelped in surprised and fell backwards into the mud.

"Did I scare you?" She asked, leaning forwards to peer at him.

John stumbled to his feet and began to brush off the mud, "Yes"

"So does this scare you?" She suddenly disappeared and reappeared inches from his face, flashing sparkling sharp fangs and staring into his eyes with her own startling violet irises.

John fell back down in the mud with another cry.

"I take that as a yes" She laughed and watched him get to his feet again, glowering at her.

"Will you stop that?!"

"No!" She leaned forwards and grinned at him with her fangs which were somehow now blood splattered.

John rolled his eyes and walked right through her, ignoring the squeaks of rage.


	14. More Problems

John was glad when he finally got back after finding that left was a dead end that lead back into the forest. Rachel crowed with delight and wouldn't stop mocking him the entire way back.

"I told you!" She was still singing when they got back into London, "I toooold yoooou!"

John tried to ignore her. He didn't want to look crazy in public.

"So how do you think Sherlock is doing without you? He's probably out of his mind with loneliness" She mocked.

He just kept his head down and stayed silent.

"Please don't ignore me John. Are you annoyed because I was right and you were wrong?"

He shook his head slightly.

"Good to see you're still listening at least..."

John kept walking.

"John!"

He ignored the voice, trudging onwards.

"John! Wait!"

John paused and turned around to see Lestrade making his way towards him.

"John I-" He stopped when he saw John up close, "What happened to you?"

"It doesn't matter" John growled, combing back some of his messed up hair with his fingers, forgetting that they were covered in blood, "You what?"

"I... I have some bad news..."

John rolled his eyes, "Of course. More bad news. What is it?"

"Sherlock attacked some of the other patients and... They... They aren't allowing anymore visitors..."

John scowled.

"Well this will be tricky" Rachel muttered.

"I'm sorry" Lestrade looked down.

"You could admit that you're insane and join him there..." Rachel suggested.

John turned to leave.

"John?" Lestrade frowned, "Where are you going?"

"I need a break" John snapped over his shoulder. Lestrade recoiled at his outburst.

"...John..?"

"Getting sulky are we?" Rachel chuckled.

He gritted his teeth and continued walking.

"John, what's gotten into you?" Lestrade asked curiously.

John ignored him and walked home.

Rachel disappeared with a giggle.

 

 


	15. Mycroft

John wasn't in the mood for doing anything at that moment but he knew that there was still something he had to do.

"Making a call are we?" Rachel asked, peering over his shoulder as he took out his phone, "To whom may I ask?"

"Can you shut up for just a few minutes?" He began dialling, "I'm calling Mycroft"

"Mycroft? What's up with the names in this country?" She rolled her eyes, "Do you honestly expect me to know who Mycroft is?"

"Sherlock's brother. He might have some way to fix this" Rachel began to open her mouth, "A _realistic_ way to fix this"

She shut her mouth again and glared at him. John finished typing in the number and held the phone to his ear, listening to it ring.

"John?" The ringing stopped and Mycroft's annoyed voice came through, "I assume this is important?"

"Yes, actually" John sat down, "It's about Sherlock..."

"Sherlock's dead"

"Not quite. It's complicated..." He suddenly felt incredibly aware of how ridiculous the entire story sounded and swallowed.

"I grew up with Sherlock. I can deal with complicated" Mycroft was starting to sound rather interested.

"It also sounds crazy..."

There was a long sigh, "What is it?"

"Moriarty somehow... Turned Sherlock into a child..." He went red with embarrassment and Rachel sniggered.

"He..." Mycroft began and then there was a loud curse, "That's where it went"

"That's where it went?" John echoed, "...What... What do you mean..?"

"Recently, a top secret government weapon went missing. It turns adults into children" There was an awkward pause, "It sounded like a good idea at the time..."

"And when it went missing you just shrugged it off?" He glared at the phone.

"We searched but it was nowhere to be found. It doesn't matter now, we just need to get the antidote to Sherlock"

"It's not that simple"

"What? What do you mean?"

"Moriarty's driven Sherlock insane. He's now the first 5 year old murderer. He will be much more dangerous as an adult"

There was a horrified silence.

"Mycroft?"

Silence.

"Are you still there?"

"...Sherlock..?" Mycroft said slowly, disbelieving. His voice was cracking slightly.

"He's insane" John confirmed sadly, "I don't blame him. I've seen where he was kept"

"At least he's alive" Mycroft suddenly replied coldly but John could still hear the sorrow in his voice that he was trying to hide.

"What should we do?"

"We'll have to wait and hope he regains sanity. Is he in an asylum?"

"Yes"

"Then he should eventually be alright. It's better than being dead"

"...Yeah..." John felt tears well up in his eyes. He wiped them away furiously before Rachel could see them.

"Thank you for the news. You'll keep me updated on the situation, right?"

"Yep"

"Bye"

"Bye"

Mycroft hung up and John turned to look at Rachel who was watching him silently with a look of curiosity.

"What's wrong?" She peered at him with large eyes.

"It doesn't matter" John turned and walked away quickly, ignoring her inquiring gaze.


	16. Cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually know where John was living while Sherlock was gone before he met Mary so this is just a guess but if there was anything I missed about this then I would be grateful if someone told me. Thank you for reading! :D

John slammed the door shut behind him as he stormed into his room.

Nothing. There was nothing he could do.

He knew it wasn't Mycroft's fault or Rachel's or his own but he felt an uncontrollable rage welling up inside him.

Most of all, he hated Moriarty. He hated his suit, he hated the way he smiled, he even hated his blood and fear when Sherlock had stabbed him.

He clenched his fists, not noticing the way his nails dug into his palm and the blood that dripped from it.

Moriarty had deserved a worse death. He deserved to be tortured in the worst ways possible.

John yelled out in rage and swung his fist. It collided with the wall with a satisfying crack sending a sharp pain up his arm but it wasn't enough.

He snarled in frustration and was about to punch the wall again when the glimmer of something metal caught his eye: a simple kitchen knife. He picked it up and admired the almost razor sharp edge.

"John?" Rachel's worried voice drifted through the closed door. John locked it and paused to consider how he had never heard her so worried before. "John?!"

He ignored the sound of her begin to knock on the door, her knocks slowly becoming desperate hammering on the painted wood but it wouldn't give. It wasn't like she was real anyway.

John gently ran his finger over the shiny, smooth edge of the blade, quickly pulling it away when he felt a prick. A tiny trail of blood began to run down his finger and drip onto the floor. He gazed at it for a moment.

"John! Open up!" Rachel was yelling now, the fear clear and unhidden in her voice.

The cold steel bit into his arm and he slid it across in a swift fluid movement. It took a few seconds before the blood began to appear, growing at an alarming rate. He repeated the cut next to the other one, watching the blood spill free and begin a tiny pool of crimson in front of him.

"What are you doing?!" Rachel screamed through the door, "I'm sorry! Just _stop!"_

John bit his lip, "Why do you care what I do? You're not real"

"Because you're the only one anchoring me here. I'm not real as you said and, when you die, I die" Her voice became softer, pleading, "I'll simply cease to exist"

"So?" He dragged the knife across his arm again, smiling with a dark joy at Rachel's scream of pain like his pain was also hers.

"You don't mean it do you? You're not actually going to kill yourself" She laughed nervously, "Not while Sherlock still needs you"

"And not while Moriarty still breaths" John finished with a snarl. He had never meant to actually kill himself, just take out his pain on something.

There was a relieved sigh from the other side of the door, "You're not going to commit suicide."

John put down the knife and considered Rachel's moment of terror. Did she really care that much? Of course not. She only cared about her own life being on the line... And yet...

"...You care..."

"Huh? What?" She seemed to have recovered quickly, masking her moment of fear and turning back to her normal, cocky personality, "No I don't"

"Why would a hallucination care about her own life?" He swung open the door and stared at her in surprise.

Rachel looked like she had been crying. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks were wet. She also had smudged eyeliner that he hadn't realized that she was wearing before but she was a hallucination so the eyeliner could have just materialized to add effect.

"...Have... Have you been crying..?"

"No" She snapped and rubbed her eyes, "Something went in my eye"

"Sure it did..." He mumbled, unconvinced.

"Shut up" She rubbed her eyes more viciously now, smudging her eyeliner more, "And I do care about my own life even if you don't care about yours"

Rachel turned and stormed off. John stood there, considering whether Rachel was the part of his mind that wanted to live.

She was certainly not how he had first thought of her.

 


	17. Gone

John opened his eyes to see Rachel leaning over him, inches from his face.

"I don't like it when you sleep" She grumbled, straightening up and brushing a loose hair out of her eyes, "I temporarily stop existing"

"Well that's your problem, not mine" John sighed and glanced over at his phone.

"You have a text"

"I can see that" He rubbed his eyes and opened the text. It was from Lestrade.

_Sherlock's gone. Call me back when you wake up._

John stiffened. Gone? Gone how?

He quickly called Lestrade back and waited with held breath, hoping that it had been a mistake and they had found Sherlock again.

"...Lestrade?"

"Hello John" Lestrade mumbled sadly, "I presume you got the text?"

"Yes" He bit his lip and swallowed, afraid to ask about it for fear of the answer, "...What... What did you mean by gone..?"

"Sherlock wasn't there. He's disappeared. There's no sign of foul play but we can't rule it out"

"So you don't know how he escaped?"

"No. He just vanished without a trace"

John felt his knees tremble slightly, "Moriarty's dead... Right..?"

There was no answer.

"Please tell me you found a body..?"

"...There's no guarantee that he died..."

"You didn't find a body"

It wasn't a question.

"Don't you even think of doing anything rash" Rachel snarled, giving him a sharp look.

"Of course not" John replied, forgetting that Lestrade could hear him.

"I'm sorry" Lestrade didn't seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, "I'll give you a call if we get any information"

"Mhm" John agreed but he was only half paying attention, watching Rachel with a small, dark smile forming on his lips, "Bye"

"Bye" Lestrade hung up.

"Of course I won't do anything rash..." John continued, looking Rachel in the eye, "But that depends on your idea of rash"

"Whatever you're thinking, it's a bad idea"

John's smile widened into a massive grin, "Well I'm not just going to sit around and do nothing"

Rachel opened her mouth to object but John just walked past her, smirking.

 


	18. Planning

"What the actual heck are you doing?" Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow at John, "You look like an idiot"

John smirked at Rachel, holding the phone to his ear, "Yes? John speaking?"

"You're crazy"

"I know" His smile widened, "But now I can talk to you without looking crazy. Who's going to question someone on a phone?"

"What if you get an actual phone call?"

"Doesn't matter" John swung open the door and stepped outside, keeping the phone next to his ear as if listening to someone, "I'll cross that bridge when I get there"

"So, other than the phone, what's your brilliant plan here?"

"Find Moriarty or Sherlock. Preferably both"

"Both?" Rachel squirmed uncomfortably at John's decent into madness.

"Yep" He touched the gun in his pocket, "Shoot one and save the other"

"You're going insane just like Sherlock"

"You mean to say I'm not already?" John smirked again, avoiding looking at her. If he looked at her then someone might notice something wrong.

"You _are_ aware that shooting people is illegal, right? Even if it's someone like Moriarty"

"Yeah, yeah" His eyes flicked about, scanning the crowd.

"How do you even plan to find him, anyway?"

"The best place to start would be that cottage where Sherlock was being kept"

"Moriarty's not an idiot. He won't choose the same place twice"

"Best to check though, right?"

Rachel sighed, "Fine. Let's get this over with. When he's not there, you'll _have_ to stop and let the police take care of this"

"Maybe not. The police are idiots"

Rachel didn't even bother to argue.

 


	19. Struggle

"H-hey! Put me down and fight me like a man!" Sherlock yelled, squirming in Moriarty's grasp. He had only just woken up but already he was kicking and screaming with unnatural strength for a little kid.

"Fine" Moriarty dumped him unceremoniously on the stone floor before kicking the boy hard in the stomach sending him sprawling.

"Gah! I see... ugh... you're... alive..." Sherlock snarled, coughing up blood and panting as he struggled to his feet.

"Yes though it was very unpleasant"

The corners of Sherlock's mouth curled up in a malicious smirk, "Good"

Moriarty kicked him again, knocking him back to the floor.

"I will make sure that things are just as unpleasant for you"

Sherlock gritted his teeth and stumbled to his feet, swinging a fist at him. Moriarty just took a step back and Sherlock, unbalanced with his tiny body, tumbled face first onto the ground. Moriarty placed his foot on the back of his head and pressed down. Sherlock struggled underneath him, desperately, as blood leaked from his nose.

"Don't underestimate me" Moriarty hissed, lifting his foot and bringing it back down heavily.

Sherlock rolled out from under it and leapt at him, clawing at his face like a feral animal.

"No! Don't _you_  underestimate _me!"_ Sherlock yelled. Moriarty just grabbed him from behind and prised the detective off his face, tossing him across the room like a ragdoll.

Sherlock spat out a globule of blood and scowled at Moriarty, too dazed to actually get up and fight back.

"I was too confident last time" Moriarty said calmly, "But I won't be this time. This time, no-one will find you. Not Lestrade, not John, not anyone"

Then he turned and left the room, only stopping to turn around and kick Sherlock one last time before leaving. The door swung shut leaving Sherlock in darkness.

 

In the dark, Sherlock smiled.

"That's where you're wrong" 

 

 


	20. Clue

John was careful this time as he entered the abandoned cottage, propping every door open with sticks and stones from outside.

"Well, they're not here. Can we go now?" Rachel yawned, hovering next to him.

"If you want to go then leave but I'm not going to risk missing anything" John replied simply, beginning to examine the living room.

Rachel sighed and perched on the back of a sofa like a bird, "You're too stubborn for your own good"

"Mm" John murmured, barely listening as he scrutinized the cottage.

After a while of searching, the only room left was the red room. He hadn't found any clues yet but he still spent a while longer double checking every other room, avoiding the red room at all costs.

"So, we done?" Rachel asked hopefully.

John didn't reply, fetching the heaviest stone he could find and standing in the doorway into the dreaded bedroom.

Already, insects had taken back control of the room. Cobwebs hung in every corner and the walls were crawling with what looked like termites. John swallowed, peering into the room from the safety of the doorway.

"You're not going to find anything in there. Just give up"

John ignored her and stepped in, keeping his hand in the doorway to stop it from shutting. Eerie shadows were cast across the floor and almost seemed to be reaching for him.

He shuddered and took another step forward, his hand no longer in reach of the door.

John took a few deep breaths to calm himself and began to walk across, ignoring the crunch of insects beneath his feet.

Suddenly, something caught his eye. It was a drawing on the wall in blood, untouched by the bugs: a picture of a tower.

As he drew closer, he could see that it was an interior drawing of Big Ben. The unusual thing was that the picture showed a room underneath the tower that looked suspiciously like a dungeon.

The picture didn't fit with the other, more horrific images on the wall even if it was drawn with blood.

"What do you think?" John asked, glancing at Rachel.

"I think the lines are too wobbly. Whoever did this should have used a ruler" Rachel replied, "Why?"

"It's the only clue we've got. Let's go"

Rachel stood there, frowning, as John sprinted out the door and pondered what wobbly lines had to do with anything.

"...What..?"


	21. Big Ben

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been to Big Ben before so much of this is speculation.

"Closed? Well let's go!" Rachel smiled and turned to leave.

"No" John pulled the phone to his ear, "Why would it be closed?"

 "Who knows? Let's just- What the heck are you doing?!"

John was carefully sticking a homemade lockpick in the keyhole.

"Picking it. I learned this from Sherlock. Cover me"

"I'm a hallucination! How can I cover you?!"

John just shrugged and fiddled with the lock.

"Of all the terrible ideas you've had, this _has_ to be the worst"

"What's wrong? It's not like I'm going to die. You'll still exist"

"...B...But... Of never mind! If you want to be an idiot then do it! Who am I to stop the whims of someone who is clearly brain-dead"

John stayed silent and the door clicked as it unlocked. He pushed it open and stepped inside, locking the door behind him.

"It's dark and cold"

"Shut up!" John hissed, dragging out a torch and flicking its white beam across the room. The light glinted off something in the middle of the room.

"Sherlock is probably somewhere in unholy amounts of pain right now and you're busy breaking into Big Ben. Great."

"Speaking of unholy, you're here and I think you should leave unless you're going to be helpful"

"Ugh"

John snorted at the rather teenager like noise Rachel had just made and walked over to the shiny object. It was a door handle. There was a trapdoor.

The trapdoor was unlocked and swung open silently. Rachel rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"Brilliant. Creepy dark dungeons under Big Ben" She muttered sarcastically, "That is just great"

"Stop your complaining" John grabbed the first step of the ladder leading down into the dark and cautiously began climbing down.

"Watch your step"

"What?" John glanced down just as his foot his the empty space where the next rung should have been. His balance was knocked and his other foot slipped from the rung it was on leaving him dangling by his arms above a black chasm.

"Told you"

John glared at her and carefully reached his foot towards the next rung. It was just out of reach.

"How clever! He must have realized you would find this and took out several rungs so you were just a slight bit too short.

"Well he's not the tallest either" John grumbled and considered his options. The only way down was to let go but then he would have nothing to grab onto and he would fall to his death. He also didn't have enough strength to pull himself back up the few rungs until his foot could stand on something.

"I tried to warn you" Rachel tutted, "Now look at you"

"What are you so happy about? If I die, you won't exist" John peered down at the rung below him. It was too far for Moriarty as well which meant that there had to be another way. He had to think quickly. His arms were weakening and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on for.

"Because I know something you don't" Rachel crowed boastfully.

"But you're a hallucination! How could you possi- AH!" The rung above him had suddenly jerked downward with a sickening crack and John could feel splinters sticking into his hands. It had snapped.

"Do you remember me?" Rachel asked, calmly ignoring John's predicament.

"What?!"

"My name, Rachel, where did it come from?"

"How should I know? It's just a name that my mind came up with! What does this have to do with anything?!"

"If you don't remember me then how did you make me up?"

"What are you talking about?! My subconscious mind probably! JUST HELP M- AGH!" The rung broke in half with a shower of wooden splinters and John began to plummet.

"Huh. Subconscious mind. I didn't think about that..."

Everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger. :/


	22. Fall

John couldn't stop himself from screaming as he fell. He could see the light above him quickly shrinking into a tiny dot of white.

The ladder didn't even reach the entire way down, it had broken completely later on. John reflected that Moriarty had to have another way down and cursed himself for being stupid. It wouldn't have been so easy. There wouldn't just be a trapdoor on the ground in plain sight. It had been a trap all along.

His screams faded into choked silence after a while. The fall seemed to go on forever.

Rachel was nowhere to be found. John realized how long it had been since she hadn't been there. It hadn't been too long but, all of a sudden, it seemed so lonely and quiet. Just the wind whistling past his ears and the frantic thumping of his heart filled the dark, cramped space.

His nails were broken and bloody from scratching across the walls and his throat was sore from screaming but the worst part was the feeling of failure. If he died who would save Sherlock? The police? Ha!

A small, hoarse, almost maniacal chuckle escaped him. Was this death? The loneliness didn't feel so bad anymore, it was almost blissful.

He had faced death many times before with Sherlock and the war but this felt so much different. Nobody shaking him and begging him tearfully to wake up, disturbing his sleep. It didn't feel like such a big deal anymore.

It was also so much less painful. It wouldn't be a slow bleed out like usual, it would just be splat and blackness. Would he even realize he was dead? It didn't feel like it.

He laughed again, much more hysterically this time. This was it. The end.

Despite being at peace, it just didn't seem right. He couldn't. He just couldn't die there. He had survived so much and he would just be taken down by a broken rung? No!

John took a deep breath and glanced around. The two broken, rungless sides of the ladder still passed in front of him. If he was lucky then there might... There might... No. Not might. There _had_ to be.

He could see the light below him now. The floor was coming and he could see what he had been looking for now: one lone rung near the end. He couldn't miss this. He had to grab it.

It was human instinct to cling to life. Now he saw the ground, he realized how much he really did fear death. His blissfulness had just been an illusion created by the desperate feeling that somehow there would be a way out. A way to survive this. One mistake and he could ruin it.

John reached out and his fingers curled around the smooth wood. There was a jarring pain through his arm and the rung broke in a shower of splinters but the tiny pause before it broke had just been enough.

He hit the ground and his legs buckled beneath him with a horrifying shoot of pain right through his body. It would have been worse without the rung breaking his fall.

Rachel was still gone.

It was time.

 

 


	23. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this chapter may be particularly violent and disgusting. Just a small warning.

John tried to ignore the burning pain in his leg as he stumbled forward shakily.

The small corridors made him feel claustrophobic and the horrific quiet crunching noise in his leg made him feel sick. He knew it was broken without looking at it. It dragged behind him along the ground as he limped at a twisted angle. His trousers were soaked red just above the kneecap.

He shuddered, imagining what would have happened if he hadn't slowed his fall.

Was Sherlock even there? What if he had reached a dead end or some sort of red herring. It certainly seemed like a sort of thing Moriarty would do. What about the exit? If this was just a trap then would there be an exit?

There was a particularly disgusting squelch from his leg and John gagged, bile rising in his throat. He had been shot before but that wasn't so gross. It was painful but there was less funny noises and blood. Plus, there wasn't any bones sticking out of the skin unless you were really unlucky.

Thinking about it, he couldn't help suddenly throwing up unceremoniously on the ground. He had seen broken bones before but it was so much different when it happened to you. He couldn't take a single step without hearing bone grind against bone. It was strangely numb but the skin around it seemed to burn. Probably from shock.

If he ever got his hands on Moriarty then that villain would regret ever messing with him. A doctor could heal but he also knew the worst ways to torture without killing. 

John looked up and saw a door at the end of the corridor. He had seen plenty of them. Dungeon cells. Always empty apart from the odd skeleton or rat.

He straightened up. It was worth checking.

The door was locked but the key was in the lock. Had Moriarty gotten cocky or was it another trap? Was he getting his hopes up for nothing? Only one way to find out...

The door creaked as it opened. The hinges were stiff with rust. Not a good sign.

He peered into the room. It was dark inside but he couldn't see anyone. He was about to close the door when there was a small sob from inside. He looked again.

A small boy was huddled in the corner. It was dark but the curly black hair was unmistakable.

"Sherlock!"

The boy looked up. His blue eyes were bloodshot from crying and his face was covered in cuts and bruises.

"...John..?"

"What did he do to you?" John ran forwards, forgetting his broken leg. There was a crunch and he fell over with a cry of pain.

"John!" Sherlock stumbled to his feet and ran over to help, "What's wrong?"

Sherlock gently pulled up his trouser leg and let out a sharp breath when he was the leg. John looked down too and gagged again as he saw it. Just as he had suspected, the bone was protruding from the mangled flesh that had once been his leg.

"What happened to you?!"

"I fell. Off a ladder." John replied simply.

"Goddammit Moriarty" Sherlock cursed, "Can you walk?"

"I walked here"

"I mean outta here. You just put a lot of strain on your leg"

John couldn't help sniggering.

"What's so funny?"

"Well look how our roles are reversed. I used my brain to get here and now you're using your heart"

Sherlock looked up, "Shuttup. I'm still smarter than you"

"I'm now older than you. Much older"

"I said shut up!"

"Well I think I can get out of here. No more ladders though. I hope there's an elevator"

"There is"

"...I was kidding. Are you being serious?"

"I broke out of this cell several times but I wasn't tall enough to hit the buttons on it. Moriarty must have loved that little mockery"

"Show the way, detective"

Sherlock smiled slightly and it occurred to John that it must have been so long since he had been called that.

"Of course, Doctor"


	24. Clautrophobia

John was glad when they found the elevator. Of course, Moriarty had to have a way up and down other than the ladder trap.

His leg was beginning to hurt more. The shock appeared to be wearing off.

Now he couldn't just _hear_ the grinding of bone against bone but he could feel it too. Every sharp white splinter going into his muscle was painfully sharp like needles.

Sherlock had lost the tiny moment of worry and compassion and walked ahead, uninterested as he searched. Despite his cool composure, John could see in his eyes that he was secretly worried. They darted left and right, flicking with almost impossible speed towards any movement or sound in the dark tunnels.

Without speaking, they both knew that they each wanted the same thing: To get revenge on Moriarty.

They stepped into the elevator and the tense atmosphere vanished. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief and pressed the up button. The elevator doors closed with the creak of an unoiled hinge.

"We'll be out soon" Sherlock suddenly spoke up both for John's comfort and his own, "Soon"

John nodded and looked around, "How long has Moriarty been using this place?"

"Huh? I don't know. Why?"

"There were corpses. In other cells" He cleared his throat, "Most of them looked like children..."

"So I'm not the first. Interesting"

The lack of care in Sherlock's voice make him wince. How could he just shrug it off so carelessly?

"Some were as young as babies..."

"That could either mean that he used it on children or tested it in different amounts. Most likely on children since he didn't do that to me"

John bit his lip and looked away, the tense atmosphere suddenly returning.

Silence fell.

Sherlock coughed once.

"..."

John gazed up at the elevator roof, aware that something didn't quite feel right.

"..?"

Sherlock suddenly stiffened. He had noticed it too now.

"The elevator has stopped" He said, dangerously quiet.

John swallowed, "So..."

"Moriarty had used this elevator before. It worked. It's not a trap. He knows."

"He... Knows..?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as if speaking to an idiot and pointed to the top corner of the elevator.

John squinted at it. He couldn't see anything.

"What? What is it?"

"The spider"

John looked up again and he noticed a spider in the corner, staring at them. It was a strange spider with a large fat body and tiny legs. The strangest was that it was hairless and shiny like plastic.

"A camera" Sherlock finished, "We're trapped"

"And how long have you known that was there for?"

"Well we can't use the ladder and we can't just wait down there. This was the only chance we had"

"And we're just sitting ducks now?"

"Yup"

"There were no other ways?"

"None. Unless you think you can climb all the way back up through the hole you fell down with your bare hands and broken leg"

"So we're screwed?"

"Yup"


	25. Breaking Point

John was fed up.

He had faced trap after trap, suffered pain both mental and physical and all just to get stuck in an elevator.

It felt like a bad joke and he hated everything about it. He hated the spider. He hated Moriarty. He hated Sherlock's calmness and acceptance of the situation. He hated it all.

This was it. He couldn't take it.

In a second, he had flicked out his gun and shot the spider with deadly accuracy. It was so small that the bullet flattened it into a pancake of plastic and tiny wires against the now dented corner.

"That won't make a difference" Sherlock said, bored, "We're trapped still"

"Shut up" John snarled. His hands were clenched into fists and the knuckles were paper white. Sherlock glanced up and his eyes widened in alarm.

"...John..?"

"We're not sitting here and doing nothing. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one?"

"Most of our options have a high risk of death"

"So? You want to just sit here and wait for Moriarty to play with us?"

"...At least we have a chance to escape again if- What the heck are you doing?!"

John shot his gun several times at the floor buttons.

"That won't do anythi- N-no! John! What-?!"

"Tell me what to do!"

"Take that gun away from your head for a start!"

"How to get out? Now!"

"Y-you could climb onto the roof of the elevator through that hatch on the roof and cut the wires holding it up but if you cut the wrong one-"

John didn't even wait to hear the rest. Every second they sat there was ticking the clock closer to whatever horrific death Moriarty had planned for them.

Sherlock stood, shocked and speechless, watching him jump and knock open the hatch without any regard to the loud crunch from his leg as he leapt. He crawled through it, blood dripping onto the floor below him from his leg.

"Come on" John called from above.

"What? Why?"

"We're going to climb these cables up"

"Are you insane?! You have a broken leg and if we fall..."

"Maybe I am insane"

Sherlock fell silent.

"Hurry up"

"But-"

"NOW"

Sherlock quickly struggled up through the hatch and sat on top of the elevator swallowing as he looked at the cables they were about to climb.

"This isn't a movie, John. We aren't going to survive"

"Just watch me"

And then John started to climb. Sherlock paused before crawling up after him.


	26. Confrontation

"How on earth did you manage that with your broken leg?" Sherlock asked, gasping for breath as he finally pulled himself through the hanging open elevator doors, "Christ, in times like this I really miss my adult body"

John looked down at his leg. It looked even worse now with mangled bits of flesh tangled around the bloody sticking out bone.

"I'm a soldier. I've faced pain before"

"Still"

"Honestly, I was too focused to even notice"

Sherlock was about to say something else when there was the sound of footsteps from behind them.

"Wow, still alive?" A painfully familiar voice asked innocently, "I have to admit, that move was so stupid and dangerous that I never considered it as a threat"

"Moriarty" John snarled, clenching his hands into fists.

"So who's idea was it? Sherlock? I never considered you that suicidal that you would even risk John's life as well"

"It was mine" John growled and stepped forward, pointing his gun at Moriarty.

"You? You?! Don't make me laugh"

"I didn't want to" Sherlock said quietly but no-one was listening.

"You're going to regret ever messing with us"

Moriarty smiled and rocked back on his heels, "Cute. You think you can stop me"

A cluster of glowing red dots lit up on Sherlock and John showing evidence of snipers.

"I might be merciful here and let you go quietly so don't do anything rash or you'll be dead in an instant"

Sherlock glanced up at John, silently begging.

"Never"

Sherlock sighed in annoyance.

"It doesn't look like Sherly agrees with you there"

"That's his problem"

Moriarty raised an eyebrow, "Well look at that, a role swap. John's the cold hearted genius and Sherly is the caring one"

John flicked his gaze around in an attempt to spot a sniper. His gaze fell on a dark silhouette to his right.

"Well, Moriarty, if I shoot you then we all die. Including you"

There was a moment where Moriarty almost, just for a second, looked uneasy. John almost thought he had imagined it.

"But that would put dear Sherlock in danger. You wouldn't dare"

"Try me" John smirked coolly. He knew that Moriarty was losing control of the situation. He knew Sherlock's actions and what he would do in such a situation but an insane John? He had made a terrible mistake.

"Do it then"

John paused, thrown off. He hadn't anticipated that. He had hoped for Moriarty to give in and let them go.

 _"The sniper. Go for the sniper"_ He heard a voice whisper in his ear. A chill went down his back.

John's eyes widened in surprise for a second. He recognized that voice.

He didn't hesitate. His gun was pointed at the silhouette in a second and there was a bang before he dropped down, pulling Sherlock down with him to avoid any bullets but there were none. The snipers, confused, had been distracted by their dying comrade.

Even Moriarty had been thrown off guard.

John quickly began to drag Sherlock away from the confusion. There was a bang as one of the snipers snapped out of his confusion and took a shot at the fleeing duo but missed.

By the time that the shot had finally refocused everyone to the situation, John and Sherlock were gone.

Rachel smiled back at the snipers smugly before following.


	27. Mission Impossible

"I would complement you on the genius of your idea except the idea was mine" Rachel boasted as they left Big Ben.

John didn't respond. He didn't want Sherlock to know that he was insane.

"Quite the idea you had back there" Sherlock said quietly. He seemed troubled by something, "Where did you get it from?"

John shrugged, "I dunno. It just happened"

"It was mine" Rachel scowled.

"You... You didn't get it from anywhere else..?"

"Where would I have gotten it from?"

"Nevermind. Now we just need that cure..."

"Wait, what?!"

"I'm not going back to the asylum. Not with Moriarty on the loose. We need that cure so I can put up a fight next time"

"Your brother is practically the government apparently to you! How are we going to steal a secret cure from the god damn government? I'm pretty sure he isn't going to give it to us"

"It'll be interesting to try, eh?"

John rolled his eyes. Sherlock seemed to be getting a bit of his old self back instead of the cowering, terrified child in the elevator and in front of Moriarty. It was probably the shock wearing off... But...

"You're acting different"

"Huh?" Sherlock glanced up, "You're acting different too. A lot less insane"

John flinched at the word insane but luckily Sherlock seemed to interpret it differently.

"I'm not that insane, John. Stop being so worried. I'll be back in the asylum soon after the cure"

John fell silent, thinking. Was he acting different? He oddly felt a lot better with Rachel and Sherlock by his side. It was a lot of brainpower for just two children.

He couldn't shake off the feeling that Sherlock was hiding something. The way he had reacted to John shooting the sniper and the way he was suddenly acting back to his cocky old self... He couldn't quite pinpoint what he was missing. It was on the tip of his tongue but he just couldn't figure out what was so different.

What had changed?

"Anyway, John, you're the distraction"

"Huh?"

"For our little mission impossible. You haven't forgotten already have you?"

"Distraction?"

"For my brother. If I know him - and I do - then he keeps the "top secret" chemicals in the top drawer on his desk which is locked by a key that he carries on himself at all times. It's connected to a keychain which has a mixture of different keys on it, all unlabelled. Only he knows which is which. The drawer has a bulletproof lining. You could probably nuke his office and that desk will still be in tact. I'm just telling you that in case it's an option for you considering what you did back there"

John rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, once - if - I break in the drawer then the cure will be amongst a ton of other chemicals with labels in code so in the situation if someone _does_ break in then they don't know what they're looking for. I can decipher the codes easily but I'll need time. The whole operation requires a lot of time"

"And that's where I come in?"

"Yup. You'll need quite the cover story to keep Mycroft distracted for so long. Oh, and although it probably won't happen, if anyone else tries to come into his office while I'm in there then you'll need to distract them too"

"Great..."

"Don't worry. It's just my life and possibly yours too on the line if this fails" Sherlock said.

John stared at Sherlock for a long time, trying to figure out if he was being serious or not.

"Well, let's go!" Rachel chuckled, "I'd _love_ to see how this turns out"

 


	28. Distraction

"So what did you want to talk about?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, scanning John up and down.

"Well..." He cleared his throat and took a breath, "You know how Sherlock's missing..."

"I am aware and I'm doing all I can to search for him. He either escaped or someone took him and I dislike both of those ideas considering the implications"

"I've been looking into it"

"So? What did you find? Did you find him?"

John considered. He couldn't tell him that he found Sherlock but he also couldn't say where he suspected Sherlock to be but if he said no then the conversation would be over.

"You found him" Mycroft deduced, his interest perking ever so slightly that only one with keen eyes would've noticed.

"Yes but he was taken by Moriarty. We ran into him while trying to get away and he took Sherlock again"

"And left you alive?"

"I don't know why he must have some other plans for-"

"You forget, I'm just as clever as my brother. I know you're lying. Why? It must be so Sherlock can break into my office and steal the cure"

John swallowed, "No, I-"

"John. Sherlock is unstable. As much as I would love to reverse what Moriarty did to him, it's too dangerous"

"But Moriarty will try again and Sherlock can't face him in his current state!"

"I'm sorry but this is how it must be"

Mycroft turned to leave. John looked around desperately for something to distract him with.

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

Mycroft paused, "Why?"

"Do you?"

"Of course not. They're scientifically impossible. Where is this coming from?"

"The room where Sherlock was being kept in... I got locked in there..."

"So?"

He took a deep breath, "I wasn't alone"

There was a hesitation. Mycroft was considering whether to go stop his brother or whether to question John further. His curiosity got the better of him.

"Who was there?"

"A lot of people. All children"

"John, I can't deal with trivial things like this. People have been known to hallucinate things when in situations like that. There are no ghosts"

"A girl called Rachel"

"Huh?"

"She..." He paused, unsure if he should admit his mental instability, "She followed me. Out."

"If this is a ruse to follow Sherlock into the asylum then-"

"She helped me. I wasn't lying when I said me ran into Moriarty. If it wasn't for her then we both would've died right then"

There was a long sigh, "We can talk about this later. I need to stop my brother"

"But-"

"This conversation is over"

Mycroft re-entered his office and froze. The drawer hung open and the window was also wide open. Sherlock had made it.

 

* * *

 

 

"How did you break in the drawer? I didn't see you steal the key" John asked later when the two of them met up again. It was unusual seeing Sherlock as himself again... Or only half himself. The cure apparently took time to work and his was now about a teenager.

"Lockpick. You didn't think I was wasting time stealing the key did you?" Sherlock looked down at him. He was a very tall teenager and John had to stop himself from sniggering. Seeing Sherlock with acne was surprisingly hilarious, "I didn't think you'd be able to hold off Mycroft that long. How'd you do it?"

"Uh... That doesn't matter"

Rachel burst out laughing. John ignored her. He didn't see what was so funny.

"Your naivety is highly amusing" She purred, "I wonder how long it takes until one of you figures it out... If ever"

John decided to ask her what she meant later.


End file.
